Lyle's Odyssey
by ShadowElfBard
Summary: When Lyle has computer trouble, a simple task becomes an Odyssey...


**Computer Trouble, Lyle's Odyssey**(revised version)

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody from the Pretender, and will not attempt to claim it. So leave me the hell alone! Also, I mean nothing by whatever companies and products I may tease. It's all in good fun.

**Rating:** PG, or a PG-13

**Summary:** When Lyle has computer trouble, a simple task turns into an odyssey…

**!!!Author's note!!!:** **This is just an idea that popped into my head while I was lying awake at ll:59 in bed, having just played a very, very long game of chess. I can't do anything too serious without compensating by coming up with something wacky and improbable, and I wrote this little fiction in my mind while staring up at the ceiling, and suffering from temporary insomnia. I just thought I should warn you. **

**Feedback:** Let a girl keep what little sanity she has left! Feedback? Hmm? Maybe? Please?

**********************************_ShadowElfBard_****************************************

Some dummy built this pencil wrong--

                                        The eraser's down here where the point belongs.

                                        And the point's at the top--so it's no good to me,

                                        It's amazing how stupid some people can be.

                                                                   _---- "Stupid Pencil Maker" - Shel Silverstein_

~~~~~~~~~~

   Lyle was fighting to keep awake as his final report finished saving to disc. He had to have the **_slowest_** computer in the entire Centre- it made the game boy look like a technological wonder. 

    It was about ll: 59 give or take a few seconds, and Lyle knew that he was probably the only person stupid enough to still be here besides the sweepers. He sighed and let his chin rest in his hands, as he stared at the little progress bar go from 20%, to 22% to 24%… 

   He was going to have to bring up the idea of having Bill Gates assassinated for plaguing all those who were unlucky enough to use Windows.  

   There was suddenly a soft beeping from the other machine behind him, and he smiled_. Oh thank god. _He quickly moved up out of his chair, and went swiftly around his desk to go and pour out the precious and heavenly substance known as coffee.

   He had finished pouring it into a mug, one of his favorites, which said clearly on the side, "yeah I'm a lunatic, you got a problem with that?" and had closed his eyes in pleasure as he sipped the drink and began walking back to his chair.

   Bad idea.

   He tripped on something, and then fell to the ground, courtesy of Mr. Gravity. And, of course, because he was taken by surprise, he accidentally spilled the fresh, wonderful, and extremely hot coffee he'd waited so long for, all over him. 

   He jumped up from the ground, the spilt coffee seeping through one of his favorite Armani suits and burning his skin, and tore off the jacket in an attempt to stop the pain. He cursed several times under his breath, wiped off some of the coffee from his pants, and muttered his way to his chair, wondering what the dry cleaning bill was going to be for his suit, and how he could somehow get his father to pay for it.

   He sat down in the chair, still thoroughly angry, and turned and saw his reflection…on a black computer screen.

   "Oh, come on this is **_not _**happening!" he growled, pushing a bunch of different keys, and smacking the side of the computer, trying to make it work. He let out a clearly angry "Arghh!" and then crossed his arms and slumped in his chair, accepting that the stupid computer wasn't going to work if he kept hitting it. 

   Now everyone knew that Lyle was no good with computers, (including himself) and the last time he'd tried to fix one, a simple problem with Microsoft Word, he'd somehow ended up erasing all of the data on the hard drive. So, Lyle was going to have to order someone to fix it for him. But who? There was no one here that he knew of, and he was **_not _**going to search all twenty-seven sublevels and fourteen regular levels to look for someone.

   He nearly crossed his eyes in concentration. Someone who knew a lot about computers, but wasn't brave enough to stand up to him and tell him no, that they wouldn't work on his computer at nearly twelve midnight, and preferably someone who was within a twenty mile radius.

   Then a gleam came to his eyes. Broots…

   He got up and then began walking to the door, to go and grab the tech so that he could scare him into fixing his malfunctioning piece of junk that was the only way he'd get his report finished in time to present to Raines, and then remembered that his once beautiful Armani suit over coat was now lying on the floor, seeping up the coffee spill. He paused. He couldn't very well go out without a fully done suit, it just wouldn't do.

   So he turned around and walked over to a suspiciously bare patch of wall, and rapped three times with a fist. Immediately there was a faint humming sound, and a large clothes rack whooshed out of a suddenly appearing hole in the wall. Lyle looked carefully at the suits hanging expectantly, grabbed a coat that matched the one he'd worn before, and then rapped on the wall once more to set the clothes rack zooming into hiding again.

   He frowned to himself as he walked out of the room. They could make clones, and give him a secret, pop-out clothes rack in his office, but they couldn't get him a decent computer? They seriously needed to rethink their budget…

~~~~~~~~~~

   Lyle strolled out into the near-empty parking lot, still a bit angry about not being able to have his nightly coffee, and began scanning the rows of vehicles for his own car.

   He spotted it near the back, his beauty. Sometimes he thought it was the one and only thing in this world that actually meant something to him… Besides power and money that was.

   He sighed happily and gazed with almost parental fondness at his Porsche. He then fingered in his pocket to bring out the electronic key to the door, and, still looking at his beloved automobile, pushed the button he thought would unlock its doors.

   EEER! Wrong choice!

   Immediately an ear-splitting siren emanated from his car.

   Following that, of course, were the loud, and deafening sounds of every **_other_** car alarm in the Centre's parking lot, affected it seemed by the sound from Lyle's Porsche. Yes, everyone in the Centre was paranoid, and so everyone in the Centre had a car alarm. It was only fitting.

   And so, even though Lyle was now covering his ears and clenching his eyes in pain from the sound, he could still hear the noise from all twenty-seven car alarms that sounded much like this:   ****

WHHHHHOOOOOOP! BEEEEEP! DDDDEEEEEEDDEEEEE!  BRIIIIIING! ! AWOOOOP! BEEEEP! WHHHHHHOOOOOOOP! BRIIINNG! AWOOOP! DEEEEEDDEEEEE! 

   And this lasted for ten, long, painful minutes, during which Lyle pondered throwing the little device that had caused all of this mayhem to the ground and stepping on it repeatedly.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Going home Mr. Lyle?" called the sweeper standing guard at the vehicle entrance. 

   Lyle managed to give a fake laugh. The sweeper was very irritating, almost as annoying as the sound that all of the car alarms had made, and talked to Lyle whenever he left. Lyle had tried to threaten him to stop, but the problem was, that the guy had long-term memory loss. He never remembered the threats long enough. But apparently, things were getting a bit better, because he'd actually remembered his name this time. 

   "Afraid not," answered Lyle. "I just have to go pick up a… a tool to help me with a computer problem."

   The sweeper grinned. "Okay sir. Bye! Have a good night!"

   Lyle kept on the false smile until he'd driven out of the sweepers sight. God he hated cheery people. They were just so damn…so damn **_cheery_** all the time. 

   He was speeding down the road, his eyes hardly even focusing, still a bit irritated about the coffee spill and computer malfunction and the unexpected symphony of chaos he had to endure, when he heard a strange sputtering and his Porsche began slowing down. _ The hell?_ He thought, and swerved over to the side of the road to check out what exactly was going wrong **_now_**. He slammed the door shut, and trudged his way towards the front of the car, and lifted up the top of the lid to see if anything was wrong.

   Surprisingly enough, everything seemed to be working smoothly. He furrowed his brow, shut the lid, and went back and sat in his seat, totally confused. What could possibly be-- then he saw it, and clenched his teeth.

   The little annoying red arrow was on 'E'. As in your tank is empty, you have no gas, and you're in deep sh-t. He banged his head against the dashboard at the injustice of it all. Now what was he to do? He had to get it to a gas station, but the nearest one was nearly a mile away. What did the Fates expect him to do? Push it there? 

   Then he lifted his head up, and scrunched up his face, internally battling with himself. Oh no, there was no way in hell that he was going to actually resort to manual labor and **_push _**the freaking car there. There was no way in hell.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's amazing how easily you can change your mind if forced to.

   Lyle groaned and slumped up against the side of his car, sweating profusely, tongue almost hanging out, and chest heaving up and down. But he gave a small smile as he saw the glowing sign of the place he'd reached. 

   SHELL

He stood up, feeling his muscles scream in protest from pushing the nearly forty-five thousand-dollar Porsche to the gas station. And not only that, he had to go to the bathroom as well. He saw an employee walking by, and stopped him.

   "If I pay you ten bucks will you fill my car up with gas for me? I have to go use the bathroom."

   The man spat on the ground, nearly hitting Lyle's once polished, but now scuffed up shoes. "Ten dollars eh? Give me twenty and you got yourself a deal."

   Lyle muttered angrily under his breath about ugly cheap rednecks and then began walking to the mini-mart.

   He strolled in, slicked back his hair, and approached the check-out lady, a middle aged woman reading a magazine that that was designed for people twenty years younger than her, and tapped on the counter to get her attention.

   She looked up, and with obvious irritation for being interrupted drawled out, "can I help you?"

   Lyle once again gave his smooth smile, hiding his distain for the woman's attitude. "I'd like to know where your bathroom is located."

   She pointed to the back of the room. "It's back there--"

   "Thank you" 

   "--But you can't use it." she finished over what Lyle had said.

   He stopped short. "What do you mean, 'I can't use it'?"

   "Tell me son, can you read?"

   He grit his teeth to keep from ripping her throat out. "Yes, I'm proud to say that I can read just fine."

   She kept her unreadable expression. "Good, then read that sign right there." She pointed to a small little sign that was strapped down with scotch tape on the counter.

    "Bathrooms are accessible to customers only." Lyle read, anger in his voice. 

   She nodded. "Uh huh. Either you pay for something, 'slim jim', or you go out and find a bush on the side of the road."

   Lyle's face contorted with fury for a moment, _how dare this woman speak to me like this?_ But then he smiled and after spotting a Double Mint gum package out of the corner of his eye, grabbed it and slammed it down on the counter. "Now may I go to the bathroom?" he asked snidely.

   She rung it up, put the money that Lyle had thrust on the counter in the machine, and nodded. "Have at it kid." She delved into her magazine once more.

   Lyle scowled at her, though she was unable to see it, and then grudgingly, but quickly, made his way to the bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

   Lyle, feeling much better now, walked out of the mini mart and strolled towards where he saw his beloved Porsche parked. He then stopped for a moment, as he saw that his way was barricaded by two older teenage boys who were harassing an older, elderly man.

   "Just hand us your little wallet pops and we'll get off your back." One of them sneered, holding a baseball bat.

   The old man just glared at them. "Leave me alone you, you hooligans!"

   They grinned tauntingly and began closing in.

   "Hey, excuse me!" Lyle yelled from only three yards away. The two confused teens glanced over at him as he walked purposefully forward.

   "Could you two please take your mugging elsewhere?" he asked, hardly even looking at them. "I'm trying to get to my car and you're in the way." 

    They looked at each other with bemused faces, and then began laughing outright. 

   "You hear that bro?" one chuckled. "This dude wants us to move away from his precious Porsche!"

   "Yeah," the other replied, sniggering. "The little corporate man wants to protect his investment." 

   The first one, the leader, then gave an evil smile, full of mischief. "Well why don't we see if he got his money's worth huh?" Then, without any fanfare or pretense, he gave a home-run swing with the bat in his hand and created a huge dent in the back bumper of Lyle's sparkling silver, forty-five thousand dollar Porsche. 

   While the two laughed idiotically at the damage they'd caused, Lyle just stared. He looked from the bat in the boy's hand, to the back end of his car, and finally to their amusement-filled faces.

   And then, Lyle grinned.

   And they stopped and stood still.

   He slowly took off his suit jacket, and carefully folded it and placed it upon the trunk of a car beside him. 

   "You know what?" he said casually, as he began rolling up his sleeves, still wearing that almost skeletal grin. "So far, I haven't been having one of the best nights." His eyes lit up in the dark. "But I think you've just made it better."

   The two teenagers, as if sensing his purpose, both curled their lips and ran at him, holding their bats as though they were swords.

   As they came closer, Lyle just took in a deep breath of relief. "Perfect." 

   He charged to meet them.

**_Three Minutes Later…_**

The two teens groaned from their positions on the ground, feebly stirring. Lyle finished buttoning up his suit jacket, glanced for a moment down at the kids, and then shook his head sadly. "I thought you two could have done better than that."

   He walked over to his car, frowning at the dent in the back, and then opened the door, ready to drive and finally pick up his tech. The old man, the one that the two now incapacitated thugs had tried to steal from, practically flung himself at Lyle's arm.

   "Wha-- Hey!" Lyle yelled in irritation as the old man held to his arm and began sobbing with joy.

   "Thank you so much sir! You saved me from those ruffians! How kind and brave you are!"

   "Uh huh, you're welcome, yeah." Lyle said, trying to think of a way to dislodge the senior citizen from his limb.

   The man enwrapped Lyle in a bear hug, much to Lyle's pain and dismay, and then gave him one last grateful smile before happily walking off, a small spring in his step.

   Lyle hurriedly got in the car, locked the door, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Finally," he muttered.

    He placed the key in the ignition, turned it, put the Porsche into 'R', and then stepped on the reverse pedal and drove out of the gas station, ready once more to go and pick-up the tech.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Damn midnight cravings! _Lyle thought sourly, as his stomach growled in what he perceived as indignant protest.

   He needed to go pick up Broots, and drag him back to the Centre so that he could fix his computer, and here he was craving food. Food, at twelve o' clock at night. Why did this have to be so darn difficult? Was the whole freaking universe against him? Was he the fool of some cosmic practical joke? Did he have a sign on his back that said 'screw up my life'?

   He brooded on this angrily, and then reluctantly made the turn into the drive-through of McDonalds.

   He waited behind a light green BMW, and impatiently tapped his fingers against the side of his car with his arm hanging out the window, mentally grumbling about how long the person in front of him was taking. What he wouldn't give to have a clear shot at the person's head…

   After an agonizingly lengthy eternity of waiting, Lyle was finally able to pull up to the electronic box where he could order his food. He pulled up and leaned closer to his rolled down window.

   "I'd like a small coke and fries," he said to the machine, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.

   "Wellgareeenthungalser?" 

   Lyle blinked at the garbled reply. "What?"

   "Isedwellgareeenthungalser?"

   "Look, I can't understand you." said Lyle, trying to keep calm. "All I want is a small fries and coke. Nothing else."

   "Eruchur?" there was some static. "Eebivdpoupondourdrys."

    "I only want a small fries and drink. That's all. I can't understand you, so just wave me through." Lyle spoke through clenched teeth.

   "Gfjkgfmgp-"

   "I can't understand you god da--it!" he yelled, cutting off whatever mangled message he had been going to receive. "Just shut the hell up and let me through! I want my fries and coke!!!" 

   There was silence then, and for a moment Lyle thought that it was over.

   As usual, he was wrong.

   "Kefjgifeikeegehthkdogfihihg-"

   "ARRGGGH!!!" Lyle, his eyes blazing with fury, zoomed off and away from the machine and its infuriatingly incoherent speakers, and out of the drive-through, cursing Ronald McDonald and his evil minion employees all the way.

~~~~~~~~~~

As he drove down the street, his blood pressure slowly lowering, he vowed not to stop again until he reached the tech's house. He was getting tired of being screwed whenever he tried to do something. It was turning out to be a freaking odyssey just to get someone to help him with his computer. You'd think it would be easier. 

   **_And_** he was still hungry.

   He kept a tight-lipped look, much different from his usual grinning and mocking features, and tried to calm himself. He sighed. He counted backwards from ten. He tried to hum 'twinkle twinkle little star'. 

   He had his eyes partially closed, and he slipped into an almost tranquil state.

   Then his eyes popped out in a comical cartoon-like fashion, and he stepped on the brakes so hard that he was afraid they'd snap.

   He leaned his head out of his window, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. There were nearly fifteen cars blocking his way, all of them abandoned. What the hell? 

   He glanced at his wristwatch. 12:13pm

   He sat there for a moment or two, fighting to make a decision as to how he should respond, and then gritted his teeth and stepped out of his car. Whatever the hold up was, Lyle was going to find it out. And then he'd probably kill the person who was keeping him away from his goal.

   He walked down the side of the road, and saw that he was nearing a large group of people who were chattering to each other excitedly like teenage boys inside of an adult video store. They were all crowded around a car, and some rather off-putting noises were coming out from it. 

   Lyle hesitated, and then shook his head. If they chose to block his way, they were going to have to pay the price. No matter what they were doing.

   He battled his way through the crowd, shoving and elbowing where necessary, and walked up to the battered Ford that was the cause of the road blockage. There was a door open, and when he looked in, and saw the couple inside, and recognized what was going on, he wished he hadn't. Because in the car, was a man and a woman.

   And the woman was in labor.

   "Come on honey, just uh, just oh…" the husband trailed off, sweat coming down his forehead. He obviously had no idea how to help his wife.

   His wife was groaning and moaning in the front seat, which had been reclined back far enough that she was almost lying down, and she was giving her spouse glares that easily said, 'if you do not help me right here, right now, I will kill you'.

   Lyle tried to back away, but it was too late and the desperate husband spotted him.

   "Hey! Please, my wife and I were trying to get to the hospital, but its too late and she's already getting ready to have the baby. Could you help us? Please?" he looked at him anxiously.

   Lyle gave a half grin that hid the flips his stomach was doing. "One second." He then turned as fast as he could and looked out at the crowd. "Does anybody here know anything about delivering a child?" he called out to them, just as desperate as the husband was.

   They glanced at each other nervously but did nothing more.

   "No one in this group of nearly twenty people has ever had experience with pregnancy?" Lyle asked in disbelief.

   One woman raised her hand eagerly. "I've watched 'ER'! Does that count?"

   "No. No it doesn't." Lyle turned away from them, not noticing the woman's sad look.

   What was he going to do? Yeah he knew how to deliver children, he'd actually been taught how to by Raines, but now? He was on his way to grab Broots, not help out with some woman's pregnancy. Besides, those things just got really messy and… they just weren't fun. He glimpsed the time on his watch again. He did have to get going though, and the only way he'd get these people to leave was if someone helped out, and since he was the only person who could help out … 

   Irony. You can't help but hate it.

   He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He cursed under his breath and turned slowly and unwillingly to the Ford.  He began walking tentatively over to the car where the noises had just gotten louder. He'd rather watch Bill Clinton and Raines dance disco in platform shoes and skimpy dresses than do what he was going to do now, but he had no choice. That, and his annoying and extremely tiny conscience had just showed up and made this act morally right.

   If Jiminy Cricket were there, Lyle would have squished him. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh thank you! Thank you so much!"  The relieved husband said gratefully, turning back to his wife who held her newborn son in her arms.

    "You're welcome." Lyle responded dryly. "Just make sure that you get out of here and to the hospital as soon as possible. You're still holding up traffic."

   The man laughed, as though Lyle was joking. "Sure, sure."

   Lyle turned from them, and started marching back in the direction of his Porsche, black thoughts running through his mind. The crowd that had gathered cheered and whooped as he walked by, praising him as if he were some sort of hero. Lyle felt the urge to strangle each and every one of them so badly that his hands began to shake.

    He made it to his car without killing anyone, and sat inside and buckled up, detached from what he was doing. He never **_ever_** wanted to do that again. Never. That was the single most disgusting thing he'd ever seen or done, and Lyle had seen and done a lot. It was so much easier when you were delivering fake children to life size dummies. It wasn't as messy.

   The cars in front of him had finally begun moving again, and Lyle was able to drive once more.

   Why had all of this happened to him? Was this night punishment for all of the things he'd ever done? It wasn't right. Punishment is supposed to be solitary confinement, or an embarrassing moment. Not car damage, bad food service and pregnant women. He'd even lost the jacket part of his Armani suit. It had gotten covered in… nasty stuff. Now he was going to have uneven suit parts. Life sucked.

   _Man. Just what god did I piss off?_

  Lyle seemed to come out of his musings, and then realized that he was entering Broots' neighborhood. He scanned the houses in the dark, and then spotted the tech's home. 

   _Finally, _he thought in relief as he parked in front of the building.

   He stepped out of the car and began making his way across the lawn swiftly, maneuvering past a bike and helmet that had been left out front as he went. He grinned as he steadily approached the door.

   Suddenly, his foot was caught on something and he tripped. His face then fell straight down into a small pile of mud that was a result of the rain earlier today. After sputtering out the mud that found its way into his mouth, Lyle stood and looked to see what caused him to fall. He clenched his fists in anger.

    "Damn you lawn gnomes! Damn yooooooouuuuuuuu!"

 ~~~~~~~~~~  

Slightly balding and nervous technician Broots awoke from the peaceful and safe stage of sleep at the sound of cursing on his lawn. He sat up, and listened for a moment, and when he finally understood what the person was yelling, his eyebrows shot up in surprised confusion.

    " 'Curse the lawn gnomes?' " He repeated skeptically. " 'Death to all lawn ornaments?' "

   He slipped out from under the covers, grabbed his robe to cover his 'Dilbert' pajamas, and quickly headed out to the front lawn, wondering if the elderly Ms. Beetlemire from across the street had once again gotten into the pixie sticks her caretaker always tried to hide from her. It wouldn't be the first time.

   When he got outside however, and the porch lights lit up the area, he realized that it was not in the fact the old woman who had once danced out on his lawn singing the theme song to 'Giligan's Island', but an enraged Mr. Lyle who at the moment had a gun pointed at one of his lawn gnomes.   

    Broots' mouth hung open as Lyle, who's face was nearly completely covered in mud, pulled back the trigger and shot his cute little chubby ceramic gnome into sixty cute little chubby ceramic pieces. 

   Lyle calmly placed his gun back in its holster and turned to see Broots standing on the front porch, his mouth open and his eyes wide and fixated where the small statue had once been.

   Broots slowly turned his gaze and stared at him in disbelief. "You killed Jerry. You just…shot him. Why did you shoot Jerry?" 

   Lyle ignored the man's pleading questions and after wiping off some of the wet dirt on his face, forced one of his usual grins. "I need you to come with me." Then, as an after thought, "please."

   Broots shook himself out of the shock the death of one of his favorite lawn gnomes had put him into, and looked at Lyle as if he were crazy. Which, for all practical purposes, he was.

   "G-go with you? Where?" his brow furrowed. "Why?"

   Lyle, (whose patience was now barely a hair away from burning up completely), didn't bat an eye. "Just get into the car… now. "

   "But sir, it's nearly one o' clock in the morn- "

    "JUST GET INTO THE DAMN CAR!!!" Lyle roared. 

    Broots gulped. "Y-yes sir."

    The technician scrambled towards the Porsche, climbed into the passengers seat, and after buckling in, twiddled his thumbs and stared at his shoes, different prayers, wishes, and things he would have liked to of added on to his will running through his mind.

   Lyle got into the drivers seat and gunned up the engine. "Now, let's go." 

   Broots closed his eyes and began whispering fervently; "yea I walk through the shadow of the valley of death I shall fear no evil…"

~~~~~~~~~

On the car trip to the Centre they had been cussed at in two different languages by four different people, had run three red lights, been chased by a cop and evaded him at nearly ninety-eight miles per hour, and nearly run over a group of Christian gatherers who had been crossing the street (one of whom had given them the finger).

   But, believe it or not, only six minutes after picking up the unwilling Broots, Lyle had arrived at the guard station of the Centre; conclusively ready to put this hellish night behind him. 

   He pulled up to the booth, Broots cringing in the passenger seat and digging his nails into the side of the door. They only had to wait a moment or two before the sweeper who had wished farewell to Lyle strolled out, a big goofy smile on his face.

    "Wonderful night isn't it sir? It's all just so calm and-"                                      

   "I'm sort of in a hurry." Lyle said evenly, trying to control his rising blood pressure. "I'd really appreciate it if you just waved me through.

    The sweeper gave him a disapproving look, but then grudgingly nodded. "All right then. Just show me your ID and you can go on through."

   Lyle blinked. "ID? I just came out of this gate not forty minutes ago. What the hell do you need an ID for?"

    The sweeper squinted at him, and then shook his head softly. "I'm sorry sir but I don't remember you coming through at all. I'm afraid I'll have to check your ID."

   "But I came out of here not long ago. You saw and talked to me, you even wished me a good night. You called me by my **_name_**."

   He shrugged. "Sorry, I can't remember that happening sir."

   Lyle grudgingly began reaching for his ID card, and then realized that it had been in his coat's pocket, and that the coat had been left behind after it had gotten covered in… icky stuff.

   He sat there for a moment or two, the fake grin he'd carried with him stuck on his face, and he thought about the irony of it all. 

   "Sir? So you or do you not have your ID on you?" asked the sweeper, a bit more annoyed.

   Lyle looked over at him gradually and then his grin became pained, as though it hurt to keep it on his face. "I don't have it on me. If you would just let me through-"

   "No, I can't. It's the directors orders."

    "But I'm his son," he ground out.

   "I'm sorry sir I-"

   Suddenly, deep under all of the embarrassment, delays, and trouble that Lyle had gone through this night, something snapped.

   His eyes carried flames that looked like they came from the depths of hell, his face was contorted by rage, and his voice was like a thunderous whiplash.

   "DO YOU HAVE **_ANY_** IDEA WHAT I WENT THROUGH TONIGHT?!?! I HAD TO PUSH MY CAR, BATTLE MY WAY TO THE BATHROOM, FIGHT OFF TWO ACNE-FACED PUNKS, ARGUE WITH AN ELECTRONIC BOX, DELIVER A CHILD, AND SHOOT A FREAKING LAWN GNOME!!!!"

   The guard paled at the psychotic and pissed-off glares he was receiving.

   "I'VE BEEN THROUGH HELL TONIGHT AND YOU'RE NOT MAKING MY LIFE ANY EASIER BUCKO!" He pulled out a gun and raised it to the sweeper's forehead, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Wave. Me. Through. Now."

    And with a shaking and blood-drained hand, he did.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lyle, who had managed to park his car and get inside the Centre building without tripping, damaging something, or setting off any car alarms, was stalking ever closer to his office, dragging Broots behind him while holding onto the collar of the technicians robe.

   Once he had reached the door he swung it open, pushed Broots inside with a strong shove, and then strolled in, the door slamming behind him. Broots stumbled, but regained his balance in time to shrink away when Lyle crossed his arms and stopped in front of him.

   "Wha--what is it you'd like me to do sir?" he asked shakily. _Please don't kill me…_

   "I had gotten up for a simple cup of coffee, and after I returned to my seat, the report I'd been typing up was gone and I couldn't turn on my computer." Lyle provided, conveniently forgetting to mention the tripping incident beforehand. 

    "And you want me to…to fix it?"

    "I don't usually answer rhetorical questions." The director's son sneered.

    "O-okay." Broots swallowed roughly. "Sorry."

    He walked over to the computer in question, and began checking out the system. As he did so, Lyle mentally sighed in relief.

_   It'll all going to be over, the technician will figure out what the problem is and I'll get the report in and on time… _

"Uh, Mr. Lyle?"

   Lyle slowly shook his head in an attempt to focus on the speaker. "What is it?"

   "I um, I think I have the problem figured out."

   "Well then tell me," ordered Lyle, preparing himself for the technical and complicated computer terms that were going to fly out.

    Broots licked his lips, his eyes on the carpet as he shuffled his feet. "Well, you see sir, the reason you're computer won't start up is because it's, it's um…"

    "It's what?!" Lyle demanded, not willing to stand for the technician's nervous stalling.

    Broots took a deep breath. _It's now or never… _"The reason your computer won't start up is because it's not plugged in."

    "What?" asked Lyle softly in an almost hiss.

   "Yeah, it seems that a cord was yanked out of its socket. Someone must have tripped over it or something and it just popped out and…" Broots stopped, noticing the look on the man's face. "Uh, Mr. Lyle? Are you okay?"

    Lyle stood still and silent, the fists his hands had become hanging tightly at his side and shaking angrily, his jaw clenched and fury enveloping every cell in his body. His eyes had turned an almost pitch black, and Broots began to slowly and cautiously leave the office.

   He'd made it out into the hall, the door still open behind him, when an inhuman cry of wrath and anguish ripped through the silence.

    Broots' eyes widened and he ducked as a ceramic coffee mug narrowly missed him and crashed into the wall behind him. He scurried down the hall and out the building, as fast as his legs could carry him, as echoes of mayhem and rage sounded out from the office.

    As the technician ran away from the Centre, deciding to catch a bus, he realized fully and completely that he would never understand the Parker twin, and would never ever try to.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lyle stood breathing in and out and in and out, his shoulders quaking with every breath. Half of his office now lay in tatters, and many of his personal items had their pieces scattered out in the hall, but strangely he felt that the releasing of energy had been worth it, no matter the destructive form it had taken. 

   He tried, for perhaps the fifth time within the past two hours, to calm down, running a hand through his hair and letting out a deep, deep breath. He strolled over to the computer, sat down in his chair, and after plugging in the cord that was indeed out of its socket, leaned back and waited for windows to start up so that he could finish the report that he'd worked on for over three hours. Finally it was going to end…

   The start-up screen flickered on, and his desktop appeared. He smiled and then reached for the mouse, but stopped when a strange little white box popped up unexpectedly. He frowned and leaned closer towards the curious message. 

                                                 Error #0016589 

                                Because this system has been improperly 

                                shutdown The Word document "My Report" 

                                has been lost and is unable to be retrieved

   "Wha-? **_Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!_**"

   And then thunder, the laughter of the gods, drown out Mr. Lyle's yell of despair, ferocity and agony, as a midnight storm picked up.

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I hope somebody got a chuckle out of this somewhere, and I eagerly look forward to any feedback that can be provided by you, the reader. Thanks for taking the time to read the fic and please check out my other stuff! Bye, bye!


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